Every Bruise is a Hickey From the Universe
by NL08
Summary: If you fall, you pick yourself up and carry on, whether you're in two separate bodies or not.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Once was on fire. His body seared with a white pain unlike any he had ever felt, and he hadn't even opened his eyes yet. When he did, he was greeted with a familiar sight: his and Greedler's empty room, filled with dark blacks, rich greens and (due to Once's input) a large window overlooking the lustrous forest. It was night-time, so the artificial light of the lamp to his left was the only illumination. It didn't reach very far and Once couldn't even see his own hand, so he just shut his eyes against the dimly room once more and attempted to block out the pain.

Oh, and what a pain it was. Once was almost grateful that he couldn't see his leg, because that seemed to be in shreds by the sensations of it. The left side of his stomach churned and bubbled in an uncomfortable way in response, making him feel ill. On top of this, his lips were dry, his throat was sore and his fingertips numb, but he still didn't think to make a vocal complaint. That just wasn't him.

His body screamed at him in protest when he swung his legs over the side of the large bed, feet drifting along the floor. Once ignored the harsh grousing and placed his whole body's weight onto his right foot, then the left. Padding gingerly towards the wardrobe took a lot of energy, surprisingly, but he granted himself a few seconds to rest his – for some reason – agonizing limb as he lent against the door. Breathe, Once. Just breathe.

After a few moments he lent in, blindly groped for a staff of Greedler's and closed the door shut again. It was a fancy thing, detested by both Once and his older self. It is expected of him to have one for his more formal meetings, but Once knew Greedler hated it. (He had scoffed when he'd first seen it, delivered by a partner of his. "I can walk perfectly well, thanks," he'd said, placing it to the back of the wardrobe.) Now, however, Once was grateful of it's extra support when hobbling about.

"And what exactly are you doing now?"

The voice from the doorway made the young Onceler jump almost out of his skin. He couldn't find his voice to reply to simply stood, looking into the blackness as he waited for Greed to show himself. As luck would have it, Once's body chose this moment to react to the swishing in his stomach as a sea of unpleasantness rose up his throat, causing his to clamp a hand over his mouth in case it were to spill over. Hunched over, Once felt a hand lightly press at the small of his back. When he was sure he wasn't going to 'spill' anything, the younger of the pair turned and near-collapsed into Greed's strong arms.

Greed scooped him up into a bridal hold and took him back over to the bed, slipping him back under the covers.

"I'll ask again: what were you doing?" Greed's face was now fully visible thanks to its closeness with the small lamp, and what Once saw concerned him. Drawn features (dutifully covered with some sort of concealer – business meeting, perhaps?), tired eyes and worst of all – a well-hidden worried expression. What happened to make Greed this way?

"Trying to find some water," Once replied, trying hard to shrug off the heaviness of the situation which he felt but didn't understand. He was surprised by his strained voice.

"Fine." Greed rose out of sight once more and returned a few moments later with a glass of water. Why was he being so kind? He sat Once up and helped him drink it, the pair both drowning in the silence. When he was done he placed the glass on the side-table and sat himself down on the bed.

"What's happened to me, Greed?" Once finally asked.

"You don't remember?" Once shook his head, no. "We were doing some inspections of the machinery this morning, but one of them had a screw which was too small. I asked you to go and get one from stores because I thought to myself, 'this surely isn't too difficult or taxing at all. Even Oncie will be able to do it. Just get the right-sized screw and replace the old with the new – easy.' But no. You never returned from stores. I had to go and get you and when I did, you were like this. So stupid."

"I remember," Once murmured, because he did remember. He'd been reaching for the tiny box of screws on the top shelf (having scaled some of the shelving in order to reach them), when someone had taken a few of the normal sized cardboard boxes from the other side. His weight had pulled the whole structure down with him, a box of somethings crashing into his leg and the tiny box of screws rolling off somewhere out of sight. The frame of the shelving never hit him due to a lucky collision with the wall, but that box of somethings administered enough pain to knock him out cold, regardless. "Yeah, guess that was pretty stupid."

Greed made a small snorting sound of concurrence and placed a hand to Once's forehead. His features softened slightly as he saw his younger self's broken expression, and Once watched as he made the decision to take off his hat, jacket, dress shirt and trousers in favor of his surprisingly loose-fitting pajamas and a t-shirt. Then he slipped under the covers and turned to face Once.

"You're staying here tonight?" Once questioned.

"Yup. Can't leave my broken little Oncie all alone, can I?" Once smiled, ignoring the sarcasm and patronizing tone.

"Well, thanks. It's not that bad though, I think I can manage if you have work to do."

"I always have work to do, and you're a liar – you forget I actually know what's wrong with your leg in medical terms."

"Huh? How?"

"Don't ask stupid questions, dear. Do you honestly think I wouldn't have thought to have you examined by a doctor at some point today?" Of course.

"And? What's wrong with it?"

"Broken. Shouldn't walk, really."

"Oh."

There's some silence until Once decides to strike up a conversation.

"What did you do today?"

"I worked. After I brought you back here I had to call in a doctor, then I had to wait while he sorted you out with that bandaging and prescribed all of your medicine and shit, then I had to see him out because he said he'd 'get lost' on his own. Then I had to finish inspecting, (by this point it was around three in the afternoon), then I had to go to a board meeting, then I had to go to a seminar in town, then I had to come back, debrief the mechanics, check on how stores were looking – because they were a mess when I'd left that morning, shout at the cleaning people for not sorting it out, go to the office and do a tonne of paperwork. And now I'm here, trying to sleep."

"You were looking after me until three in the afternoon?"

"That's what you took from that?" Sigh. "Yeah, I suppose. Oof!" Greed was cut off as Once ignored the searing pain in favor of leaning across and kissing him fully. Greed smirked and ran his right hand through Once's hair.

When they pulled apart Once felt his face contort slightly in response to the pain, but quickly tried to cover it up. Greedler noticed, though.

"Sleep, Oncie, is what will fix you up."

Once nodded slightly and shut his eyes against the other's face. It was surprising how quickly he fell asleep despite the pain. His final thought before falling asleep was not for himself, but for the man laying next to him. I'm glad he's taking a break, he thought, sleepily. He works himself too hard.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The following day left Once feeling lonely, isolated and worst of all: horrendously bored. He'd knitted, read, slept and attempted to write songs without his guitar but all of this only entertained him until lunchtime, at which point the crushing feeling of having nothing to do settled in fully. He was under strict commands to stay in bed for at least a few days from both Greed and his doctor, but with Greed working and no-one around to entertain him, Once was beginning to consider breaking the rules for at least an hour.

Once found himself thinking back to the last time he had been forced under the covers of a bed and instructed not to move. He'd been seven years old, and had a bad case of pneumonia. He had wasted away most of his time sleeping, being talked at (not to, at) by his brothers when they clambered into the small room to irritate him, or playing quietly with his favourite stuffed toy, Brain. It had been a fairly relaxing week: slow, devoid of chores and as much time to play with stuffed teddies as a young boy could need. Once chuckled aloud to himself at how different the situation was now.

Now he lay alone in a large, luxurious bed. He had no irritating brothers to listen to, no stuffed toys with peculiar names and no desire to sleep at all. The only thing he wanted to do more than anything was to get out of this bed and take a walk. Maybe to the forest, if he could get away with it.

The doctor was coming before the end of the day with crutches of some sort which were taking a long time because Greed had ordered that they be the exact right height for Once straight away, with no need for any sort of adjustments ("Really? That's a bit far." "Shut up, Oncie. Did anyone ask for your opinion?"), and even then he wasn't allowed to use them until the following morning. Once let out a huff and crossed his arms.

With all of the painkillers he was dosed up with, he couldn't really feel any pain... or, come to think of it, anything at all. From the waist down there was just a comfortable numbness of both legs which completely hid any signs of discomfort. Once tried pinching all the way from his toes to his belly-button and found that the safety blanket was fairly thin round where he'd actually broken his leg. Huh. 'Local anaesthetic' my ass.

So with no pain, two fully-functioning, beautifully hand-crafted thneeds, one finished book and sixteen sheets of paper covered in scribbled over music notes, words and doodles, Once decided to give up his efforts to entertain himself and stare at a spot on the ceiling.

* * *

There was approximately two hundred and forty pounds worth of equipment necessary for binding the thneeds together laying in a crumpled heap on Greed's desk. He took a long drag of his cigar and blew out the smoke for the duration of five seconds as he let the two men in front of him cower in fear: well-placed fear. Greed was staring at them now, a small smile gracing his features.

"Just, fell down the stairs?" he finally said. The shorter of the two men was sporting an impressive shiner around his eye and seemed to have some sort of plaster over the above eyebrow. He nodded quickly.

"Yes, sir. The phone m-"

"-Made you jump, yes. Well, gentlemen, we seem to have a problem on our hands." Greed rose from his chair slowly and placed a hand on each man's shoulder. He put on a mask of over-exaggerated sympathy before leaning in closely. "You have the generous deadline of day-break tomorrow to reimburse the money or you're fired. Understood?"

More nods. The business-man straightened fully and clapped his hands together so that they were clasped in front of his chest. A vein had popped on the second man's forehead.

"Good," he beamed. "Well, I'm sure you have other places to be. Don't let me keep you here any longer. Oh, and you-" he pointed at the battered-up one. "-watch your footing. Neither of us want to be suffering the repercussions of a broken limb."

The two bustled out of the door immediately, with almost in-human speed. Greed sighed loudly and collapsed into his large swivel chair. He absent-mindedly spun it around a little before prodding at the remains of machinery on his desk. He was a fair employer. Considerate and realistic, but harsh when he needed to be. Two hundred and forty pounds is not a small sum. Well, he has more valuable things under his care, but that doesn't mean anything! Money is money, and it all matters.

A little beep interrupted his own thoughts. He looked up to the clock and breathed out an almost inaudible sigh of pleasure. He closed his Folder of Incidents, put his pen in his breast pocket, covered the broken machinery in a plastic film, tucked his chair under his desk then adjusted his tie. Perfect.

As he left, he made sure to switch off the light and lock the door, as he did every time he left his office. When he passed the reception area he noticed that the lady manning the station was devoid of the glasses she usually wore and was searching for them desperately. They sat on the counter just out of her reach. A small part of Greed wanted to give them to her, but eventually the overwhelming majority of instincts won the tiny battle and he flicked them to the floor. He smirked knowing that she'd be searching for them for hours. Fair employers can have fun too, after all.

As he approached his front door, Greed grew slightly apprehensive (although he'd never admit it) at the idea of treading into unknown territory. Beyond that door sat Once. Just Once was fine. Just Once was familiar, manageable and definitely not something to be nervous about. But Once with a broken leg? Different story. For this reason, Greed took a short moment to catch himself before swinging open the door in his usual dramatic manner.

"I have had the worst day, Oncie. How the fuck do people even -" Greed cut himself off. Was Once...? Or was he just...? Greed stalked over to the bed (quicker than he'd care to confess) and watched the younger carefully. Where were the intakes? The rise and fall of his chest? Panic began rising in his chest, swarming and churning and bubbling up to his throat in a way that made his eyes sting. Greed's fingers itched to shake at his younger counterpart's shoulders, but he stopped when Once's eyes opened groggily.

He let out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding. At that moment Greed knew he would not be returning to work the following day.

"Greed? Y-you're back early," Once murmured. Greed could see his younger self trying hard to force his eyes open fully, but the stubborn little orifices were putting up a damn good fight. He ignored the live struggle in front of him in favour of placing all of his energy into making sure his voice didn't break when he replied.

"Crutches, remember? You eaten?"

"Not since lunch."

"And what was lunch today? Something vile and overly-savoury, no doubt."

"Don't be mean! She's a good enough cook. Besides, how can something be overly-savoury? Either it is or it isn't," Once huffed out.

"No, there's a scale. Overly-savoury, palatable savoury, sweet, extra sweet, your pancakes."

"Wow, there must be a whole bunch of things in that 'my pancakes' category."

"There are, trust me. Usually all things made by you." At this point Greed took off his sunglasses and rolled up his shirt sleeves, having already disrobed his coat and hat at the door. He took the small container of pills by the bed side and read the instructions for what seemed like the millionth time. One blue, one oblong white one and one kind-of flat white one. "You had these for the evening yet?"

"Um, nope." Greed tipped the three requested pills onto his palm and went to the kitchen to get a fresh glass of water. He felt like such a fucking skivvy! It was even more irritating when he realised that it was optional, self-induced 'skivviness' that was causing him to run about like Once's slave. He returned with the water and offered both the medication and the drink to the now-sitting Onceler.

"Here," he explained. Once nodded and gushed a little about his thanks before Greed cut him off, then he took the tablets and downed them each individually. When he was done Greed asked him what he'd spent his day doing.

"If I told you, you wouldn't like it," Once decided aloud.

"Don't think you know what I like and don't like," Greed responded in his usual harsh tone. He flicked his tongue a little as he spoke. (It was a fairly old habit, developed when Greed first entered business and found himself thrown into many unusual positions.)

"Sorry," Once whispered. Greed sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Well I had to go down to the filing rooms today because I needed my Folder of Incidents. Again. Fourth time this year." Greed sat down next to Once on the bed, knees bent at forty five degree angles so that he could rest his arms on them haphazardly. His other half had his legs outstretched under the covers with his arms crossed over his tummy. His deep black hair was tousled at the ends and sticking about in awkward directions, and Greed had to resist the urge to touch the soft wisps.

"Was it those delivery guys again?" A nod from the business-man. "I'll go talk to them. Wilpten's mother died just last month so I think that's why his work is... uh... lacking? Yeah, lacking."

Greed muttered something about work being work and family being family and was about to expand his point into a full blown rant about keeping personal lives out of business before a soft knock drifted around the room.


End file.
